Hidden
by Katt9966
Summary: Five parts which are all 150 word drabbles.


Title- Hidden

Author- Katt

Rating- R

Warnings- Some mention of child abuse, if this upsets you please don't read.

Feedback- Like it or loathe it let me know

Archive- Archived at the Shield Fanfiction Archive

Disclaimers- I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX

Authors Notes- Five parts which are all 150 word drabbles.

Dedicated to- Whipper – it's a WAKMADS kinda thing LOL.

Part 1 – Voices

He curled up under his blankets, their weight pressing on him, surrounding him.

He clutched Mr. Bunny tightly in his hands, and gently sucked on one of Mr. Bunny's ears.

Even under all the layers he could still hear them downstairs. Voices loud and shrill, angry and pleading.

The air was hot, too hot, it felt thick and hard to breathe. He made a little hole to the outside for his mouth, and sucked in the cold air. He was careful not to breathe too deeply though. He had to keep still. If his blankets moved he'd give himself away.

He winced as glass smashed. His father's voice so loud, his mother sobbing. He felt tears well up in his own eyes at the sounds of her distress. It upset him, it frightened him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he stuck his fingers in his ears, and wished himself far away.

Part 2 – Bullies

Just one day, surely that wasn't too much to ask for.

Just one day when no one spat in his hair, or tripped him, or elbowed him, or sniggered as he walked past.

Just one day when no one called him fag, or nerd, or asshole, or prick.

Just one day when he felt like he belonged, instead of always feeling like an outsider, like a freak.

Just one day when he could relax, and not have to be looking over his shoulder all the time wondering when the next cruel joke was gonna be played.

Just one day when he didn't have an extra bruise to hide, a stolen report to have to re-write, a torn sweater to explain away.

Just one day when he didn't have to hide amongst the books in the library, hoping to make it through the day, through recess, without "them" tracking him down.

Part 3 – Footsteps

This was dumb. The dumbest thing he'd ever done. When his father found him – and he would – he would be so mad. He'd shout, and hit, and punish, and hurt. He knew all that, but still he pressed himself back into the corner of the closet, and held his breath. He could feel the edge of his tennis racket digging into his back. Yet when he heard the heavy footsteps coming down the hallway towards his room he pressed himself back further, wishing he could melt through the wall, or fade away.

He'd be here in seconds. He'd see the empty bed, and he'd know. Straight away his father would know that he was hiding in the closet. As if a few clothes, a pair of ice skates that were too small, and a faded, chewed old rabbit with no ears, were gonna hide him.

This was so dumb.

Part 4 – Monster

It used to be dark, and cold, and empty here, but he'd gradually filled it with things, and places, and people he liked. Now it was warm and safe.

Cold air made gooseflesh on his buttocks as his pyjama bottoms were pulled down.

He could lie in the grass and watch clouds chase each other across an azure sky. Or gaze up at the stars scattered across the velvet night.

Fingers, slick with saliva, probed him. While dirty, perverted words were whispered in the dark.

He relived the night he'd slept over at Conner's house. They'd told ghost stories, and eaten warm popcorn, and had slept undisturbed.

Grunting, thrusting, scratching, clutching. Groaned release and the weight finally lifted. Cold air caressing bruised skin.

He wished he could stay in his head, but he knew the warm trickle meant blood which had to be washed away. The real world beckoned.

Part 5 – Failure

Convinced he'd seen his father in Bob, and pale echoes of his mother in Marcy, he'd been fooled, and Kayla had paid the price. He'd failed and let her die.

Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, and he bit his lip so hard he tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

He didn't want anyone else to see his failure, his shame, so he'd hidden himself away in a dark interrogation room. Guilt and regret weighing him down. Unable to keep it inside a sob escaped at last, soon followed by another, and another.

Suddenly familiar hands on his face, wiping away the tears. A familiar voice in his ear,

"Shh, it's alright Dutch. I've got you."

He tried to turn away, not wanting his lover to see weakness.

Warm hands held him firmly. Vic's voice,

"Don't hide from me Dutch…you never have to hide from me."


End file.
